


The Ballad of Black Roach

by tsundanire



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types, Wiedźmin | The Witcher Series - Andrzej Sapkowski
Genre: Alternate Universe - Pirate, M/M, Pirates, Violence, horrible attempts at writing ballads
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-22
Updated: 2021-01-21
Packaged: 2021-03-13 00:53:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 12,943
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28894707
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tsundanire/pseuds/tsundanire
Summary: Rumour spoke of a man—born of wolves, with hair as white as the dead man’s corpse, and eyes as yellow as the sun—who made a deal with the Sea Goddess for his eternal soul. They say the deal made him Master of the seas, a navigator like no other, and a steel-like resolve. She also gave him a ship, nigh-on unsinkable, and never once beaten in battle.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 5
Kudos: 39





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Lord where to begin. I want to thank the mods for their incredible patience, for their love and understanding. The same to my artist @ravenclawkward - who's art just blew me away <3 And of course to my beta @ruarcher... C, honestly what would I do without you? Arriving at ungodly hours to save my ass. XD This one's for you guys <3

[](https://i.imgur.com/2XI3Zyx.png)

They say that the seas were ruled by an unforgiving Goddess, spurned by a former lover—a human male trying to tame her for his own purposes—luring good men out to the waters, and trapping their souls beneath the cold, dark depths.

Some say that travelling across water is cursed, everyone doomed to perish or at the least, never be heard from again. Others whisper rumours about vessels made of sacred wood, or captains blessed and anointed by priests before their journey, in order to safely cross the deadly waters. Whether any of that were true or not was hard to say. In the end, goods were ported from one place to the next, ships were commissioned for more and more daring ventures, and despite the fear mongering among the people, many countries developed their own fleets.

Deadly naval ships were spotted half as often as the merchant ships these days, under the orders of their various royal owners.

“Da’…” The little boy whined, kicking his little feet beneath the well tucked blanket. “I know all that… Can you get to the good part already?”

The father smiled knowingly, lovingly stroking a few strands of hair out of the boy’s face.

“Patience, dear heart. Every good story needs a beginning. You see, if it weren’t for the whispers of the people, there wouldn’t have been rumours of something else in the seas. Something even more dangerous than the newly commissioned Navy ships, or the storms that could sink entire ships in moments flat.”

“What was it?” The boy whispered, eyes wide and shining with excitement.

“Well…” The father stalled, tapping a finger to his chin as if deliberately searching his memory for the story. “If I recall, the rumour spoke of a man—born of wolves, with hair as white as the dead man’s corpse, and eyes as yellow as the sun—who made a deal with the Sea Goddess for his eternal soul. They say the deal made him Master of the seas, a navigator like no other, and a steel-like resolve. She also gave him a ship, nigh-on unsinkable, and never once beaten in battle.”

“Whoa...”

“But those were just rumours, stories among the people to keep their minds off the tragedies they faced in their own lands. It was far better to daydream about adventures on the high-seas, and things that were impossible to believe, than have to deal with the monotony of life, or the dark days that lay ahead of them, at the hands of their unforgiving rulers.”

“Do you think the rumours are true, Da’?” The boy asked earnestly.

“Hmm. Who’s to say that there isn’t a bit of truth in rumours, and a bit of rumour in truth? The people needed some dark hero to take their minds off things, but who’s to say he wasn’t real? Now and then, someone would arrive on the shores with tales of their encounters with the black ship. Sometimes it was a Naval officer who’d been the sole survivor of an attack. Sometimes it was someone who’d been rescued by the white wolf himself.

The Queen of Cintra wanted to put those rumours and stories to rest, so she branded anyone without papers a criminal under the new Pirate laws. And while some calm met the sea, it wasn’t enough. Far from it. In fact, one could argue that her actions were the very cause of her downfall. And the rise of the Pirate Lords…”


	2. The butcher of Blaviken

In the early morning hours, just as the dawn’s first light crept over the watery horizon, Geralt of Rivia stood at the stern of his ship. He was without hat or finery, but his stance left no room for doubt as to who was the Captain. A light shirt in rustic beige covered his chest, but was left open at the front, leather ties hanging loose. His legs were wrapped in worn leathers, held at the waist by a leather belt, and a black scarf over that. Shoulder length white hair was held back by a strip of fabric tied around his head, leaving the back strands to flow in the breeze. Morning was always the calmest at sea—assuming no storm was in sight. This morning in particular, the skies were clear and the soft shade of a robin’s blue egg. The gentle sounds of smaller waves hitting The Black Roach, and the cry of gulls as the flew circles above their swimming breakfast, were better music to Geralt’s ears than any bard could hope to capture.

“Morning Captain.” A voice spoke from his side. 

Geralt flicked his eyes down to see his ship witch, Yennefer, eyes gazing out at the horizon. “Morning.”

“Do we have a heading?” 

“Wherever the wind sends us,” he replied ominously. 

“That’s helpful,” she replied, bringing an ornate cup to her lips. He assumed it was tea but for all he knew it could have been a brew of her own creation. 

“South. We’re heading South,” he finally answered, pulling out his spyglass and checking the line. “I was given some information about a wreck that I thought might be worth looking into. And who knows what other kind of trouble we’ll get into along the way.” 

Yennefer always appeared out of place on his ship. Her garments seemed more fitting to the wardrobe of Aristocracy, not piracy. And yet, he wouldn’t begrudge her the finer things in life. Most of what she wore was crafted by her own hand, and perhaps a bit of indulgent witchery. From below their place at the stern, the sounds of clanging, scraping and shouting filled the air. Yennefer turned away from Geralt, a grin hidden behind the delicate cup.

“I’ll take my leave then, Captain. By the sounds of it, your crew is going to start the voyage with or without you.”

Life on The Black Roach ticked like a well tuned clock. Everyone knew their post, did their work, and while there was the odd complaint, Geralt took care of his crew. So they, in turn, took care of his ship. He had a habit of collecting people with intriguing back stories, so most of them had come from impoverished situations or worse. 

“Company sails ahoy, Captain!” called out a voice from the nest. 

“You heard him, you lot. Prepare the cannons! Could be nothing, but best be prepared,” Geralt shouted to his crew. They scrambled about below him, like ants preparing their hill for an incoming storm. Pulling out his own spyglass, Geralt scouted ahead but couldn’t clearly see the defined crest. No matter what, it would be a fight, as it was a rarity company ships sailed accompanied—and even rarer still for them to be relatively empty. The timing worked in Geralt's favour however, since he could disperse the gathered bounty off when they arrived in Blaviken. 

Shouts resounded around the ship, calls for rope and course corrections. Even the sails were adjusted on the fly to give them appropriate ramming speed. With not much else on the horizon, Geralt made his way to the edge of the stern, to join his Quartermaster: Vesemir. 

“ **Alright you lot! Get it together. The Captain wants an easy one today. Let’s avoid unnecessary carnage and death if we can, shall we?** ” 

“Captain!” Triss Merigold, Geralt’s second Mage, called out to him from the main deck. Leaning over, he gave her his full attention. “There’s no sign of Royal aid, but I still think we ought to be cautious. They might also have a Mage on board, cloaking their true numbers.”

Geralt nodded, and waved his hand to let his Quartermaster give the orders. Turning about, the Captain took his place at the helm and guided them into the storm. The closer they got, the more he was starting to agree with Triss. What were the chances that a Company ship would be actively sailing through known dangerous waters? Had their course left them no choice? Or were they looking for trouble? The former most oft and more likely, the latter more concerning and were it true…Could mean trouble for the band of pirates down the road. If all company ships had started bringing aboard mages or Royal Navy forces…The seas might see a decline in their species. 

Between Cintra and Nilfgard, being branded as a pirate was suddenly a fate worse than death. Both courts had their own way of dealing with the thieves, and neither ended in hangings the way other countries did. If rumour were to be believed, most died at the hands of their torturers. As they sailed closer, Geralt could see no shimmering mist indicating magically woven shields, but there were more numbers than he’d expected. 

“ **STEADY NOW**!” Geralt shouted, altering their course just enough to catch the other ship at an angle. 

The wind was on their side—though it was a rare and foreboding day when it wasn’t—pushing them forward, giving them the kind of speed that would cause just the right amount of damage, but not split the damned boat in half. Ahead of them, shouts rang out from the Company boat. They’d caught sight of The Black Roach, and were scrambling to rise anchor and loose sheets. But it would be far too late. 

“ **HOIST THE COLOURS**!” 

Within moments, their flag was waving in the wind, showing all who saw it, exactly who they were dealing with. Within the background of black, a silver wolf’s head leering out at it’s enemies. Geralt wasn’t one for exaggeration, but his crew had a flair for the dramatics, and had insisted on adopting the moniker given to him by the people, for their flag. Now that all was said and done, even the Captain had to admit… he did rather enjoy seeing the looks of panic on those who spotted the wolf sigil. 

“ **CANNONS AT THE READY**!” Geralt shouted, but he knew the crew were already at their posts. With any luck, considering the size of the cargo ship ahead was smaller than The Black Roach, Geralt even doubted they’d need to go as far as cannon fire, but it was always best to be prepared. The sea sloshed dangerously up the sides of the ship, giving them an idea of just how fast they were going. In his head, Geralt counted down, the timing perfected in his mind already. 

3…

2…

1…

**CRUNCH!**

Wood splintered into the air, and fell like rain into the ocean. Above them, the gulls cried out with shrieks that mimicked those who’d died at sea—all the while circling the battle scene in hopes of feasting on whatever remains dropped into the water. The wind carried them around, while sails were tied up for the moment, and the anchor dropped over the side. Hooks were launched at the enemy ship, held there by ropes—which were tugged closer by the manpower of his crew. 

Shouts of panic from the merchants rose up, as did the angry cries of their guards. Despite the extra enforcement, it didn’t seem like they had expected an actual run-in with pirates. The mad scrambling on their main deck was quite visible from Geralt’s vantage—who was subsequently calling out orders for his crew to board and accept surrender from the other ship’s captain. So streamlined was their process, that within minutes Geralt was walking across the wooden plank between both ships.

As he focused on the enemy Captain, his crew set about loading crates from that ship to the Black Roach. Two of his men had the Captain on his knees, hands bound behind his back, a sword held straight across his throat. 

“I hope you don’t mind…We’re just going to... _confiscate_ a few items,” Geralt stated plainly, the barest hint of amusement in his hawk yellow eyes. 

“Steal more like,” the opposing Captain spat. 

“Well, true, you likely won’t be getting these back…But it’s not like you paid fair value for them either. Besides, unlike the peasants you overcharge, I have no doubts your Company has you well insured.” Geralt’s almost smile turned dark and threatening as he leaned into the other man’s space. “Call it what you like. Call _us_ what you like. But you’re no better, no matter what fancy cloth you drape yourself in, nor the people you associate with. Your wealth is simply a different form of Piracy.” 

Geralt turned about, watching the status of the cargo being hoisted onto his own ship. Wouldn’t be too much longer. Another minute or so.

“Cintra will come for you all. Queen Calanthe is gunning for your kind. I’ve seen some hangings already,” the Captain shouted out at him gleefully, clearly no longer afraid of the threat at his throat. From the entrance of the cargo-hold, Geralt spotted Triss nodding at him. They were all set. Very well. 

Turning back once more, Geralt made a waving motion at the two guards holding the Captain in place. Slicing the ropes binding the Captain’s hands, and then sheathing the sword, the two men stepped back again. The opposing Captain rubbed gently at his wrists, while slowly rising to his feet. There was a look of pure hatred staring back at Geralt’s own unphased expression. 

“You’ll pay for this. For all of it,” the man spat angrily.

“I already have,” Geralt grunted in reply, lifting the sleeve of his shirt high enough to reveal the tattoo forced onto his skin by his previous captors. Being branded as such, had removed any possibility of a normal life for Geralt, and despite being wrongly accused at the time, the Black Roach’s Captain had balanced the scales with a lifetime of piracy in the name of the poor. 

But that wasn’t enough for the opposing Captain, who launched himself forward at Geralt—fist arching back and then flinging forward moments later. And while Geralt was far better with a sword, he wasn’t completely unskilled in other regards. After all, he learned quite quickly that a pirate who loses his weapon in battle, quickly becomes food for the fish. 

The white haired Captain saw the incoming move and dodged it with a lean to the right. It was best if this situation resolved itself quickly, before any of the other crew started getting ideas about rising up against his crew. A succession of three quick punches were slammed into the cargo-ship’s Captain’s right side. The first landed right in the middle, the next landing just below that at the junction of the last rib and organs, and the last landed above the first two—just beneath arm and right in the side of the chest plate. 

The man crumpled, body dropping and curling in on itself. His groans of pain made it clear he had no intention of fighting back any further. 

“Let it be known, I am a man not without mercy.” Geralt brushed off his hands and turned towards his ship. “You have enough supplies left to last you until you reach shore. I suggest Pont Varis. I assure you, you won’t get as far as Novigrad. I leave you your lives as well. Do not make me regret that.” And with a nod to his crew, they disembarked as one cohesive unit. 

+

“ **Three cheers for our Captain!!** ” someone called out. 

Before Geralt could say otherwise, the crew overwhelmed the din of chatter within the tavern with three successive cheers in his name. Cups were raised, brew was spilled as they clinked into each other, and the level of drunkenness and jubilation ramped up another few levels as his crew drank to their new spoils. 

Not that Geralt had kept the lot, mind. True to his word, the Captain had left a hefty amount with the people of Blaviken, in hopes that they might use the stolen cargo to aid their impoverished town. He sat in the back corner, mostly covered shadows in the already ill lit tavern. A man of little words, and even fewer interests in the frivolity of his fellow ship-mates, Geralt stuck to watching them as they enjoyed the luxuries of land. 

It wouldn’t be long before they were out at sea for another few weeks at best. And with several countries’ Royal navies out on the hunt for Pirates, it was likely best if they made very few port calls. 

“Dark and broody? Just my type.” A man sauntered into Geralt’s line of vision, blocking out everything but the sight of him. Which wasn’t horrible, but forced interactions were the last thing he wanted tonight. 

“Hmm.”

“Man of little words too, I see? Very well.” The man slid into the booth beside Geralt, incredibly blue eyes watching the raucous behaviour. “I shall simply have to talk in your stead.” 

“Please don’t.” 

“Ah! You _can_ speak. Well then! My name is Jaskier, a roaming bard. I assume you and yours came from the ship that just sailed into port?”

“Hmm.” Geralt grunted in reply. 

“Which means you are celebrating something.” Jaskier tapped a finger to his lips, deep in thought. 

“We’re pirates. We’ve just brought in our loot.” Geralt tried to dissuade the male from making further conversation, and hoped the threat of a cut throat would be enough. 

“Aha! Fishermen, just bringing in your bounty for trade! How wonderful!” Jaskier clapped, completely misinterpreting the point. Obviously he’d thought Geralt was speaking in metaphors. 

With a sigh, the white haired captain brought his drink to his lips, sipping slowly—reminiscent of the patient wolf lying in wait for its prey. 

“Your crew seems lively enough,” Jaskier continued, ignoring the warning signs that Geralt was quite certain he radiated. “Perhaps they’d enjoy further festivities tonight? They’re hosting a party at the castle, and I’m meant to play. Still, I’m sure the festivities would be far more raucous with you and your crew there.”

“Hmm…” 

And so it was, under an hour later, that the crew made their way to the castle. Geralt had half a mind to have his crew start lifting things to their ship, but he resisted on the point that he was unsure of their host’s stance on wealth versus the people. 

Were it a King or someone of that ilk, he’d have cleared the place out before anyone had been the wiser. It also didn’t help that his crew were a few sheets to the wind already, with no plans to stop. It wasn’t ideal, especially considering one never quite knew what situation one was walking into. Royal Navies from all countries stopped in at various ports from time to time, seeking out those with a bounty over their heads, or sometimes simply because it was the only place to acquire food for both stomach and lust. And if there were a party, where everyone was just drunk enough that numbers no longer mattered… 

“Captain.” Triss took up space at his side, careful not to draw too much attention to herself, nor to Geralt. It was a skill he appreciated. 

“Any news?” 

“There is a ship from Cintra docking at port,” she reported calmly. But knowing her as he did, the White Wolf of Rivia also knew she was hardly finished. 

“Hmm.”

“They don’t appear to be Navy, but they aren’t merchants either.”

“Best guess?” Her general energy had him focused on sobering up as quickly as possible. Thankfully for him the task was not nearly as difficult as it was going to be for the rest of his crew, many of whom were close to the point of passing out. If it was to be a fleeing chase, then it would be reminiscent of the early days when his crew had been few. 

“Assassins at the worst? Skilled mercenaries at the best.” Her voice sounded conflicted, as if she pitied them the situation they found themselves in. 

“Mm. A dark day it is, when Mercenaries are the best-case scenario.” He joked, though his tone remained as flat as ever. 

“Was…that a joke, Captain?” Triss looked up at him, bemused. 

“Never mind that. Gather the crew in batches, send them back to the ship. Make it look as if the doting mother is putting her drunkard sons to bed. But make haste if you can. I’ll see if Yenn can distract the rest from the mass exit.” 

Triss needed no further instruction, already making her way to the most inebriated of their group. Patting them lightly on the back—while cooing as much as any mother hen might have—the ruse was accepted for what it was by the other denizens of the party.

Looking around for his other mage, Geralt moved along the perimeter of the party. Yennefer was seated atop a table, legs crossed purposefully, while a circle of men gabbered on like salivating dogs at her feet. All were likely hoping for a scrap of her attention, though they had no idea just how uninterested she truly was. Slowly but surely, he moved behind her—still cloaked in shadows—then murmured when she was in earshot. “We have company. It’s time.” 

And as if the words had been planned and rehearsed many times before, Yennefer’s expression shifted from bemused to completely sultry. Leaving her to draw the crowd with her bewitching powers, Geralt moved on in search of the more sober members of his crew. Unfortunately, the bard from before had finished his set and started following him about like some lost puppy. 

“Ah! Geralt was it? Enjoying yourself I trust?” Jaskier commented with a jovial air about him. 

“Hmm,” was all the White Wolf responded as he tapped one of his men on the shoulder. The sailor looked up at Geralt with a subtle nod, and slowly shifted into a more inebriated pretense, gathering a few of his fellow drunken cohorts with him on the way out. Small groups at a time were leaving, but a stream of them could be seen making their way back to the ship. It wasn’t uncommon for sea-fairing folks such as themselves to continue the revelry and festivities in the comfort of their own spaces after all. Most would think they were taking advantage of who’d get first choice in beds at the local tavern, and who’d be stuck sleeping on the ship. 

“-course she all but abandoned me in favour of Count… someone. I’ll be damned if I can remember his name now. Not that it matters anymore, I suppose. What’s done is done, and now I find myself without company for the evening.” Jaskier pouted. 

Geralt looked around, seeing all that was left of his crew, besides himself, was Yennefer. Outside, he could hear sounds of quick moving feet getting closer. Unsure if there was enough time to get Yenn and himself out in a timely manner, Geralt flicked a glance between the bard and the door. 

“What is it, Geralt? Something wrong?” Jaskier inquired curiously. 

In the time it took for Geralt to quickly step around the edges of the room to get to Yennefer’s side, Jaskier seemed to figure out Geralt had gotten the entirety of his crew out of the party. At that point, the first of the mercenaries had made it in as well, swords stowed for now, eyes peeled. The party’s host sauntered over, drink in hand—rosy cheeked and blotchy complexion—to greet them, albeit with a narrowed eye at how heavily armed they were. 

“Good gentle folk! Welcome to our evening of merrime-!!” Before the host had a moment to finish speaking, the mercenaries spotted Geralt and Yennefer, and drew their swords. 

“Time’s up,” Geralt muttered.

“Geralt!?” Jaskier asked, voice high with panic. Yennefer narrowed her eyes at the group, but Geralt shifted to stand in front of them.

“Get him out of here Yen. Get to the ship. Prepare to sail.” 

“But Geral-“ Jaskier began once more, but was cut off as Yennefer grabbed his arm and dragged him off. “She’s got an extraordinarily strong grip for a-“

“If you even consider finishing that sentence, I will leave you to perish here.” Yennefer snapped. 

Jaskier seemed to take the threat to heart, as he shut up quickly. When the two were past the doorway, Geralt also drew his sword, carefully watching each step the mercenaries took. 

“Please! Gentlemen, there’s no need for this kind of violence here! We are a peaceful people.” The host attempted to soothe the air between them, but to no avail. It was unfortunate that the host was not aware of Geralt’s list of transgressions, nor was he aware that hired murderers had intruded into his party. However this ended, the White Wolf knew it would change things for him and his crew. 

“Geralt of Rivia,” the lead mercenary called out, sword held upwards across his body. “I have been sent to claim the bounty on your head.”

“I was not aware of any such bounty,” Geralt replied calmly.

With a shout, the mercenaries moved in, but thankfully Geralt had some room to maneuver. If he could shift their positions as they fought, he could escape and catch up with the ship. As the plan formed in his mind, the mercenaries had crossed the room and brought their swords down against him. But Geralt was faster, much faster than any of them could have anticipated. The sounds of metal clanging hard against metal drowned out the sounds of the party, the guests becoming onlookers and witnesses to the gruesome battle. 

Geralt’s sword slashed through flesh, cutting through his opponents with a speed and a skill that was clearly unmatched, even with the unbalanced number of opponents. The host appeared to be in shock, green-faced and ill at the gore unfolding before him. Many of the ladies fainted, a few of the gentlemen too. 

But even as he moved closer to the door, the battle continued to rain down on him. What was worse, were the shouts and cries coming from the offended gentry still gathered in the party—those who’d be left to clear away the evidence of his violence. 

“MURDERER!”

“BUTCHER!”

“FOUL BEAST!” 

With the last of the mercenaries laying dead at his feet, Geralt paused and looked back at the party. Mostly everyone was staring at him as if he were indeed some kind of demon. The others were staring in horror at the carnage he’d left behind. But between the two options, he was far gladder to be alive. The moniker would simply be added to the list people would shout at him when they saw his flag. 

Bolting back to the ship, he could see they were already unfurling sails, and preparing to set off. Geralt ran up the plank, allowing his crew to pull it up behind him. Many of them looked over the blood drenching his clothes, and smeared across his face, but he chose not to say anything about it. At least, not yet. He could hear Jaskier shouting below decks, something about being held captive, and not having asked for this kind of adventure, but Geralt ignored that too. 

Taking to the helm, Geralt shouted commands to the crew, hoping to get them out to sea without further incident. Though the mercenaries were dead, he doubted this was the end of it.


	3. A bathing interlude

“Have you considered how this might affect the crew?” Yennefer asked Geralt carefully.

It had been three days since Blaviken. Three days since he’d mercilessly slaughtered a group of mercenaries in a defenceless town. Geralt could scarcely imagine things having gone worse. Pinching his brow, he tried to push away the pounding in his head. 

“Yennefer, when have I ever _not_ considered all the angles?” 

“I’d say that was a true statement, however considering the gravity of our situation, I thought it prudent to ask all the same.” Despite her calm exterior, Geralt knew she was shaken by his description of events. It wasn’t like they typically went around killing people for the sake of it. 

“You know it wasn’t on purpose. I still believe it was a trap.”

“Right, some small cog in the large design someone has to capture and use you. Haven’t we talked about that particular non-existent problem in circles? I thought Triss had finally convinced you to the contrary.”

“She had. Until Blaviken. You can’t tell me that wasn’t convenient timing? We arrive, just after looting a ship, and that same night we are tracked by mercenaries? That’s too fast. Someone was lying in wait for us.” 

Geralt’s tone was far sharper than he’d intended, irritation radiating off of him in waves. Closing his eyes with a sigh, and pinching the top of his nose, the pirate Captain tried to reign in his mood.

“Did he keep you up all night again?” Yennefer inquired, her teasing tone making it clear exactly who she was talking about. 

“He’s fucking incessant,” Geralt snapped, though he knew Yenn wouldn’t take it personally. Never, in all his years, had he ever known someone who spent hours talking without end. 

While he was meant to be their prisoner, or at least someone with whom they could barter some sort of trade at the next port, Jaskier had inexplicably earned the warmth and respect of the crew. Though, respect might have been too strong a word. They were amused by his tales, and his ballads, which he sang at all hours. There was a cheer and merriment aboard the Black Roach, which hadn’t existed before. A merriment that had come—without a doubt—from the bard’s appearance. Despite how annoying Geralt thought the man was, the rest of the crew were happy to have Jaskier aboard. 

“It’s not _our_ fault you decided to set sail with him in your grasp. You had the chance to dump him in the sea on the first day.” Yennefer’s lips were twitching in amusement, calling him out without saying much. 

“Hmm,” he grunted in reply. 

“That’s what I thought.” The smile had fully formed on her face as she watched their bard’s antics from their spot on the stern. “You know, you should have him draw you a bath tonight. You’d be surprised at how helpful he can be.” 

“I don’t want-“ Geralt began to protest.

“Hush now, Captain. It’s been too long, and you need someone who can work past your…personality. I suspect he’s about the only one who won’t notice the thorns.” And without giving him a moment to protest, Yennefer grasped a handful of fabric from her skirts, and made her way below to confer with Triss about their destination. 

Geralt narrowed his eyes, further annoyed by his inability to reply with some snarky quip. It wasn’t like she was entirely wrong. Taking anyone to bed hadn’t been a thing as of late, though due in part to his attention being focused on running from the law, while building a fierce reputation for his crew. There was hardly a moment to spare to think about relations of a carnal nature.

As his eyes scanned the deck below, he watched Jaskier strum lengthy fingers along the strings of his lute. The damned thing was going at nearly all hours, but the crew had found the music helped with productivity. Which was ironic considering Geralt felt he was far more distracted with the bard on deck than when he was below.

“… _Aaaand with a dainty finger, she beckoned meeeee_ ~” Jaskier sang in a teasing voice. Geralt hated to admit—albeit only in his mind—that voice was soft and melodious enough to lull him into contentment. Perhaps Yenn had a point…It wasn’t like sleep had come to him with the ease of a newborn babe these days, despite how hard he worked his body every day. 

“ _The whoooore of Nilfgaaaard~!_ ” The rest of the crew chimed in, laughing and slapping each other on the arm. 

Evenings on deck, since Jaskier’s appearance, were raucous and filled with laughter. Triss had taken over cooking for the most part, and the crew was grateful for it. Vessemir was many things, but a chef he was not. And as the evening drew over the sky, lanterns were lit across the deck. His crew gathered with bits of cheese and bread on thick slices of bread. 

The few that weren’t taking care of ship duties, gathered around in a circle, surrounding Jaskier—who, to Geralt anyway, hadn’t stopped playing since the afternoon.

“Sing Jaskier! Play for us!” someone amongst the crew shouted. 

A chorus of ‘ _Yes_ ’ and ‘ _Sing_ ’ echoed around the surrounding bodies. Geralt said nothing, but leaned his elbows over the side of the ship, eyes cast out over the calm sea. After a bit of cheeky banter, of which Geralt only caught the words ’ _ballad_ ’ and ‘ _white wolf_ ’, Jaskier strummed a few soft chords. The crew quieted down, allowing the sound to carry over the water. 

“ _Listen to this bard’s tale,_

_It’s humble start,_

_A night of aaaale._

_A roving crew,_

_With hearts so true,_

_Carried off with the galant prize._ ”

[](https://i.imgur.com/rGiwYsj.gif)

It surprised Geralt to hear their tale already wrapped within a melody. Worry filled him, should the song catch on at their next port…Stories of Geralt’s violence in Blaviken could spread like wildfire. And then, there would be no end to the people hunting them down. Narrowing his eyes, he turned away from the group and made straight for his cabin. 

Irritation rolled off him in waves, as he sat at his desk. A map was rolled out before him, with little tokens indicating various landmarks. A black ship was meant to represent The Black Roach, while a tattered flag stood ominously over Cintra. They should arrive there within the week, but the thought of encountering Queen Calanthe while being chased by mercenaries and bounty hunters, filled him with dread. 

It wasn’t that he was afraid of her; far from it. She was respected among the leaders of the world, for her raw prowess on the battlefield. More than that, she was ruthless and had been at the forefront of anti-piracy brigades. If Geralt had to pinpoint who was to blame for the downfall of his kind, he could look no further than Cintra’s Queen. 

So long he sat there, staring at the map—as if the pieces were some complex puzzle, and that all he had to do to save them all, was figure out the next best possible move; or anticipate his opponent’s next few moves—he barely noticed time passing. Which was why, when a voice by his side whispered his name, the Captain nearly jumped. At his side, Jaskier was looking down at him, expression both puzzled and mildly concerned. 

“What?” he inquired in an exhausted tone. 

“Oh, uhm. Nothing really I suppose? Yennefer had suggested I check in you.” 

“Oh she did, did she?” Geralt raised a brow, unsurprised. 

“Yes. She mentioned you might need a hand with your nightly routine, and as I’m eager to prove myself to you and your crew…” 

“I just bet she did…” Geralt leaned back in his chair, and ran a hand over his face. He needed a shave, and the more he thought about easing his muscles in a bath… Well it wasn’t the worst idea. Opening his eyes, he scanned Jaskier from head to toe. The lanky male was slightly tanned from the last few days at sea, with hair a shade of brown that reminded Geralt of the luxurious fur of some land beast. Blue eyes glittered like gems in the dim candle light, but it was the soft—almost vulnerable—expression on Jaskier’s face that caught him off guard. 

“Geralt?” 

It was his name, but more than that, it seemed to hold a thousand and one questions. There was no doubt in his mind that they held some kind of connection—which was more than Geralt had ever had with anyone before—but it had been so long since he’d last considered touching someone, and what if it wasn’t reciprocated? 

“Alright. Prepare me a bath then,” he murmured awkwardly. 

A tinge of colour rose to the surface of the bard’s cheeks. Perhaps...just perhaps, it was more reciprocated than Geralt had thought. 

~

“…and so they told me, listen, if you want to charm your way through life, pick up a lute and play like your life depended on it. And you might be surprised how often that’s actually the case.” 

“Actually, I’m not. At all,” Geralt retorted, quelling the smile that threatened to expose his amusement at their banter. 

Jaskier scowled, then dipped his hand into the tub and splashed a bit of water his way. 

“You can make fun all you like. But, this is the first time in a long time I’ve been able to just play for the sake of enjoying it.”

“You realize, you’re still _technically_ our hostage.” 

“Hostage-smostage.” Jaskier shrugged it off. It was clear he was just as aware as the rest of the crew that he was no more a hostage of the ship than the Captain himself. Geralt sank a bit lower into the tub, until the water covered his shoulders, and only his head remained exposed to the cool air. 

“You know…” Jaskier continued in a quieter tone, voice demure and almost coy. “I never properly thanked you, for getting me out of that situation.” Rising to a stand, Jaskier busied himself around the room. Geralt couldn’t see what he was up to, but he heard the sounds of various dishes clattering. 

“There’s nothing to thank,” Geralt murmured, uncertain that he’d actually saved the bard. “Though I’d be more inclined to say Yennefer was the one to save you.” 

“Well her, I thanked already. And there was a promise of writing a ballad about her. Which seemed to tickle her or annoy her. I’m not sure I’m used to her forms of emotion yet.” 

Geralt couldn’t help the twitching in his lips at that. It was true that Yennefer was a complex puzzle that many couldn’t seem to figure out. Which was why he prided himself on his ability to read her fairly accurately. “If you’re here with me, then she either really likes you, or hates you. Depends on what she thought my mood was going to be.” 

As Jaskier returned to the tub, the Captain noticed his thin linen shirt was exposed now, which meant some of the clattering had been from the removal of layers. To his credit, the heat from the bath water had warmed the cabin up immensely, but then again, given the tinge of pink on the Bard’s cheeks, it could have been something else all together. 

“I suppose. She wasn’t very clear what she wanted me to do for you…” Jaskier pulled up a stool right next to the tub. 

Looking over, Geralt noticed a few small bottles lined up on the table next to the bath. He recognized them as Triss’ oils, the ones she often poured into the bath for him, to help ease his mind. 

“Where did you get those?” He murmured, closing his eyes. 

“I’m certain you already know. However, Triss suggested I use these to help relax you.” 

Peeking an eye open, Geralt saw Jaskier’s face turned away from him. There was an almost shy, perhaps coy expression written all over his features. _Interesting…_ The captain was hardly the type to go where he wasn’t wanted, nor would he waste time trying to pull the attention of someone clearly uninterested. 

But there was a building feeling in the air, almost like the tingling before a particularly striking storm. And as Jaskier moved closer, almost imperceptibly sliding a finger down the length of Geralt’s arm, the Captain could _feel_ the hairs on his arms rise. Jaskier must have felt something too, given the pause in his shifting about. Nervousness fell to the wayside as their gazes connected for a moment. 

“What do you want, Jaskier…?” The loaded question settled between them, but neither of them looked away. Which was all the more problematic for the situation _rising_ beneath the water, when Jaskier slowly lifted the linen shirt over his head, and set it aside. Dark eyes filled with a kind of fire Geralt had only encountered in wild beasts during their heat. 

There was no further need for words. The intentions were clear. And when Jaskier’s pale chest was finally unveiled to him, Geralt turned in the tub. One arm slung across the side, while his other arm reached out towards the bare skin teasing him. Water droplets connected the two, but the chilled night air forced a shiver down Jaskier’s spine. 

The bard’s eyes fluttered shut on a soft sigh, his head tilted back just so, leaving his delicate throat exposed. In the land of beasts, the offering was close enough to submission, that it pulled a guttural noise from Geralt’s throat. Bold fingers grasped angled hips, tugging until Jaskier’s trembling flesh pressed to the firm, heated, and thoroughly saturated skin of Geralt’s chest. Their lips met within seconds, proving to the Captain that his assessment of their mutual arousal was correct.

And as undaunted hands explored new territory, Geralt considered an exciting thought. They might not know what the days ahead might hold, but the next few hours…without a doubt, would find him enraptured, and entangled, by the lithe male before him. 

~

The morning came as it ever did: riding on the tails of the night. And with it, came a surge of something Geralt couldn’t quite place. 

On the one hand, he thought there would be unsurmountable guilt for having practically seducing someone they were meant to be holding captive. Or at the very least, someone who had been forced into a rather unfortunate situation with the rest of them, through no fault of his own. There might have been an ounce of guilt for the level with which his lust had practically barrelled through his evening companion, using him as a steed might his mated mare. But for all his memories of the previous night, Geralt could say beyond a shadow of a doubt that Jaskier had enjoyed himself just as much. 

But there was nothing of the sort. 

As the Captain’s back remained pressed to his sheets, and the warmth of the second body pressed to his side continued to breathe slowly, his mind flitted from memory to memory of the previous night. Up till now, Geralt had never realized how much he’d longed for someone like Jaskier. There was a balance with them, with the intimate acts they’d shared. A balance between genuine surprise, and natural anticipation. Between discovering and exploring a new body, and somehow understanding exactly what the other needed. 

In all his life, he’d never had a partner who seemed so perfect for him. Which was concerning… Because fate often had a way of making him utterly miserable, right when he was beginning to feel content—or dare he say…happy?

With a sigh, Geralt slowly extracted his arm from beneath Jaskier’s head, silently pressing a kiss to his forehead, and then quickly throwing on yesterday’s clothes from the floor pile. 

“Any sign of trouble, Eskel?” Geralt inquired, when he finally arrived on the deck. 

“Nothing to report. But Cintra’s on the horizon, and we’re in desperate need of supplies. Especially if you’re planning to have us run out to sea for a bit longer.” 

Geralt nodded. “Make land. But we’ll have to make it fast. I don’t trust that we aren’t being followed closely. Or that Cintra’s Queen wouldn’t have our heads served to her on a silver platter.” 

Eskel chuckled. “As you wish, Captain.” 

Most of the rest of the morning was spent in preparation for Cintra. There were lists to be made, arrangements to take care of, gold to count out, items to sell. Everyone had their tasks, which was by and large what made them such an effective crew. But the morning was made all the more lively by the Bard’s jaunty step and tune. Everyone seemed to catch their lingering gazes, and tried to keep their snickers to themselves. However, it was hard not to enjoy the energy washing over the ship like crashing waves. The sun was making its way towards its peak in the sky, and yet the winds continued to bless them with good fortune. 

“You three will help Yenn and Triss. They won’t require your talking skills, but strength of arm to carry all our recent acquisitions.” The three bulkier men nodded, seemingly pleased at the idea of spending their day in the company of two gorgeous women. Even as he spoke, Geralt couldn’t help flitting his yellow-hued gaze over to Jaskier, feeling himself melt beneath the tenderness woven in powdery blue. They barely knew each other, but matches had been founded on far less. Theirs was a strange but profound love. The kind he’d heard stories about as a child, wherein two souls search for each other over the ages. Perhaps he was romanticizing a feeling that only he himself felt, but even if that were the case, Geralt was certain he’d lay down his life for Jaskier if it came down to it.

“Eskel will lead the purchases in the market. Do not dally, as we aren’t certain how much of an advantage in time we have. Buy what you can. Mousesack, I need you to take the Queen’s attention off of us for the time being. I know you both are familiar, so perhaps use that to your advantage if things come to a halt along the way. Queens’ guards may already have heard about Blaviken, in which case…They may have put a price on our heads already.” 

Those with orders nodded, and made their way out of the Captain’s quarters. Geralt sat behind the massive wooden desk, quill scribbling as fast as his words spat out instructions. 

“And what of me?” Jaskier’s voice floated over to him, like some siren’s song. 

Looking up, he noticed they were alone. 

“What of you, Bard?” he rumbled, placing his quill down for the moment. 

“What. Do. You. Require. Of. Me?” Each word punctuated by a single step forward. 

“There is plenty I require of you,” he murmured quietly in reply. 

“Tease.” Jaskier flirted easily. 

“Perhaps. Then again, perhaps I’m merely trying to draw out our time together.” Geralt’s lips twitched up imperceptibly. 

“You don’t have anything more pressing to take care of?” tThe Bard’s playful tone felt like an intimate stroke down his spine, settling into the core parts of him. Just as he was about to suggest something a bit more provocative, a knock at the door startled them both. 

“Sir?” Mousesack’s voice murmured behind them. “I was wondering if I might borrow the Bard for a bit?” 

Curious, Geralt raised a brow. “For what purpose?”

“Well, if we should run into any kind of trouble that requires a distraction, I think he’s proved himself more than capable at providing one at a moment’s notice.” Mousesack chuckled impishly. 

“That’s true.” Jaskier nodded sagely, blue eyes twinkling with mirth. 

“As you wish then.” Hhe waved a hand at them both, and went to mark off a few requests littered across his desk. At the last moment, he allowed his eyes to lift from the boring paperwork, roaming instead across Jaskier’s mouth watering backside.


	4. The Cintra Acquisition

“Do you suppose the captain might want some of these? I hear they only grow in this region…” Jaskier murmured to Mousesack.

Following their debarkation of The Black Roach, the Bard and his curiously quiet companion made their way purposefully through the market. There were guards on post in various sections of the town, but that was true in almost every capital city. In fact, with the lush richness said to be held within Cintra’s very walls, it would have been more concerning if there had been no sign of guards whatsoever. 

“Hmm. Perhaps you’re right. They’d rot within a few days given this incessant heat, which would simply be a waste,” Jaskier continued nattering on. 

Despite what most people thought, the bard was quite intelligent. More than that, he was _observant_. And what he’d learned in his tours of various cities, was that folk typically let their guard down around someone who gave the appearance of being less intellectual than themselves. The more Jaskier carried on, chatting the ears off of anyone who would listen, the more people seemed to divulge. Of course, what that meant was different from group to group. 

Once, when he was passing through one town in particular, he’d discovered that the Vicar had broken his vows in a rather lurid affair. Not only that, but the affair-ee in question, was none other than the supposedly “pure” daughter of the King. Well, her as well as a few other maidens, all of whom were being groomed for their marriage rites. All of this, Jaskier had managed to learn while enjoying a few rounds of mead with some of the local coins-men. Turned out that they had a large sum of money they could profit from, should the events be brought to the right ears. Funnily enough, Jaskier off-handedly remarked that he’d be playing at the King’s feast the following day; and when all was said and done, he’d somehow managed to earn the King’s ear, as well as a few coins for his own pocket. All because tongues had loosened in his presence. 

Mousesack was no different. Here was a man with an agenda, one involving Jaskier for some reason. That part did not make him nervous, so much as what it could mean for other companions of his. Despite being a known philanderer, Jaskier had never allowed his heart to come into the equation. Songs and ballads composed about legendary feats, despite being written by him, eventually belonged to the people. His name was not even his own. Therefore, his heart was not something he could afford to give away. It was the only thing that truly and utterly belonged to him. And yet, even recalling those yellow eyes, searing passion into his soul, branded Geralt’s name into him. 

Which meant, whatever intrigue Mousesack was up to — especially if there was a chance it could hurt Geralt in turn — Jaskier would have to uncover it sooner rather than later. 

“Come on.” Mousesack finally spoke, his voice low. It wasn’t quite threatening, but it had certainly lost some of it’s earlier jovialness. 

“Aha! Where are we off to then? I’ve never visited Cintra before. Care to show me some of the best views?” Jaskier prodded, hopeful to get some hint of what was to come. 

But the smaller man refused to acknowledge him. It was that refusal that sent a frisson of discomfort down Jaskier’s spine. Out of the corner of his eye, he spotted some of their crew at one of the merchant stalls. _Eskel…_

“Ah, one moment if you please!” Jaskier stopped in his tracks, tapping Mousesack politely on the shoulder. “I forgot I have a list for our lovely crew there, from the Captain. I’m sure he’d hang me by my toes if I were to—“

“There’s no time. Besides, we shouldn’t be seen with the rest of them. It would draw unwanted attention,” came the gruff reply. 

“Oh come now, surely we can spare a few minutes?” Jaskier increased his volume, not quite shouting, but enough that Eskel would hopefully look over and see the commotion he was trying to cause. 

“No,” Mousesack growled, grabbing his arm and yanking him forward. 

Risking a glance back, Jaskier saw that Eskel was indeed looking his way, eyes narrowed. He made a step forward, as if in an attempt to stop the situation, but Jaskier very minutely shook his head, mouthing instead ‘Get Geralt.’ Eskel nodded, stepping back, and drawing no further attention to the increasingly dangerous predicament. 

As they headed down a stone walkway, Jaskier could see the castle gate ahead. Which really only meant one thing: Mousesack was working for the Queen. 

“Please, let her know we’ve arrived. She’s expecting us.” Mousesack spoke to the first guard posted just outside the gates. For a brief moment, Jaskier hoped he’d been mistaken, and that the guard would laugh them off. He prayed that it was all some misunderstanding, and that they would get turned away before yet another fight ensued. Their crew was already being chased by unknown forces, and perhaps a small contingent from Blaviken; it could mean worse trouble if Cintra decided they were worth the cost of a chase as well. 

His prayers were ignored, or perhaps he was just praying to the wrong deity. Whatever the case, the guard moved inward, allowing them passage, and sending word through to the other guards. 

They were led into a grand room, which — if Jaskier closed his eyes — could have easily functioned as a ballroom of sorts if the need ever arose. For now, it felt far more like the executioner’s sentencing room. Far ahead, raised on a dais, the Queen, Calanthe, sat on her gilded throne. To her right sat the Queen’s consort, to her left: her only surviving descendant, her granddaughter Cirilla. Jaskier looked about the room, keeping his features light and upbeat, feigning casual confusion. In reality, he was taking in every possible detail. What frightened him most, was the practically Cheshire-like smirk tightening across her features. 

“My dear Mousesack.” She leaned forward in her seat, leaning an elbow against one side of her chair’s arm. “And what kind of goodies have you brought your Queen?”

“I have brought something _he_ covets, your Majesty,” Mousesack said, bowing his body practically in half before her. There was no denying who _‘he’_ might be. Jaskier’s kidnapping was beginning to make more sense. 

“Is that right? What proof do you have?” Calanthe inquired, very clearly intrigued, if a bit doubtful. 

“There are witnesses, your Majesty. Anyone who was on the ship these last few days could say the same.” 

Calanthe scoffed, irritation replacing her interest. 

“You want me to take the words of the very people I’m seeking to-“ she stopped herself, as her eyes raked over the bard. “I think it highly unlikely that _he_ will give up everything for this… this…” Calanthe struggled to find the right word. 

“Captivatingly, alluring and charming vagrant?” Jaskier helpfully supplied. 

At first, the Queen appeared angered by his retort. But within a moment, her features melted into light amusement. 

“Come closer. Tell me your name.” It wasn’t a question. 

Jaskier did as she commanded, willing to play chess piece for the time being. The game had only just begun, and the longer he could stall, the more time Eskel had to get Geralt. 

“Julian Alfred Pankratz,” he paused, bowing slightly at the waist. “Viscount de Lettenhove.” 

Both Calanthe, and his former shipmate, whipped their heads to him. Ah, the old “showing your hand” trick. Got them every time. 

“Viscount…” Calanthe swirled the word around her tongue, as if tasting it for flavour and mouthfeel. She and Mousesack exchanged a look, which Jaskier took to mean he was in trouble. With a wince, he realized he’d shown his hand too soon. So much for being the smartest in the room. “There’s too much at stake…”

“You didn’t see the way they looked at each other,” Mousesack pleaded. “I swear on my life. Geralt will come.”

“He’ll come, because you’ve stolen something of his,” she replied. “But whether he’ll give up his freedom? His ship? His life? That’s a whole other question.”

Mousesack nodded, and stepped aside. His part was over. 

“Guards. Take this… fine gentleman,” her lips twitched up at the corners. “To some quarters down below. I’m sure he’ll find it more _comfortable_ there.” 

~

_Meanwhile…_

“And you’re certain?” Geralt asked once more. He’d never felt the need to second guess his crew, but given they were speaking of betrayals in the highest, and Jaskier being kidnapped, exceptions were made. 

“Without a shadow of a doubt, Captain.” Eskel nodded, various crew stumbling in and out from behind him.

They had to play it carefully, lest their entire crew be caught in the hands of trouble herself. 

“Where’s Yenn?” Geralt called out. 

The mage lifted her hem, making her way towards his slightly panicked voice. 

“Here.” She seemed curious. Most of them did. Geralt had never allowed himself to care for someone before, and now they were all at risk because the Captain had allowed himself to swoon. 

“I need you and Eskel to take the crew and set sail. Hide the ship if you can, for as long as you can. Just put some space between yourselves and here.”

“…Geralt-“ she began.

“No. There’s no time for that. Calanthe has Jaskier. I’m not going to risk everyone’s life.”

“Just your own,” she snapped back in reply. Of all his crew, they all knew she was the only one who could talk to him like that. And it wasn’t because of a lack of respect, but she was the one who’d known him the longest, perhaps the best even. 

“What exactly do you suggest I do?” There was an ache present in his voice now, one that spoke of a soul who’d found it’s match and had lost it just as quickly. 

“I suggest you let us _all_ help you,” she snorted. “You aren’t the only one who cares for the Bard after all. He’s one of us now. He’s family.” 

There was a glint of pride in Geralt’s eye as she explained her idea. 

The clanking sounds of swords clashing filled the market air. If this did not work, the crew will have lost everything. They’d all been given the chance at starting over with a small sum, but none of them had accepted. Everyone was bound together by something invisible, but stronger than the most glittering diamond. They all considered Jaskier to be one of them, and would fight to the death for his return. 

“ **GERALT!** ” Yennefer called, Triss at her side. They were casting spells, blinding, buffing, damaging, anything that might give them a slight edge. 

She motioned to an open space, and he slid right in. Infiltrating the castle was exactly as difficult as he’d imagined, made more complicated by the fact that Calanthe had anticipated they might attempt a rescue. 

Things were turning from bad to worse, as Geralt slid into the open space Yenn had blasted in the castle’s foundation. There was no knowing where he would end up, or what he’d find, but it was a start. His feet hit stone floors, dimly lit by oil torches. The corridor was cold and damp, suffusing the air with a musty smell. 

“Jaskier?” he whispered, hoping to catch an inkling of the bard’s location. It was quieter now, the shouts and sounds of battle muffled by stone. His call remained unanswered. Flicking a glance down both lengths of hall, Geralt hazard a guess and took off in a direction he hoped would bring him closer. 

There was a small clanking sound down one hall, where a row of cells typically held prisoners — though it remained mostly empty now. With silent steps, Geralt made haste towards the cell with a sound. “Jaskier?” 

“Geralt?” Came the awed reply. “What are you doing here?” 

“Do you honestly think I’d leave you in Cintra to rot? We have plans for dinner after all.” Geralt smirked, but felt his smile falter at the look on Jaskier’s face. “It’s a trap! For all of you. She knew you’d come. You have to get ou—“ The Bard’s words cut off at the same moment Geralt felt something sharp press into his back. 

“Well, well, well,” Calanthe’s voice sounded at his back. 

“Queen Calanthe… Is that a sword, or are you just happy to see me?” Geralt forced a bored tone, so as not to betray the anxiety building inside. His eyes remained on Jaskier, who caught his glance with a soft expression. There was no doubt, Geralt loved him, and would do whatever it took to keep him safe. 

“Why can’t it be both?” 

He could hear the glee in her voice. She’d finally captured her ultimate prey: the last of the pirate kings. 

“What do you want, Calanthe?” he drawled, knowing that dropping her title would offend her. 

“ _Queen_ Calanthe,” she predictably corrected, her voice a low hiss of irritation. “And you know precisely what I want. Your head, mounted on a pike. An example to all who might consider following in your boots.”

“And what of my crew? Of the bard?” He motioned towards Jaskier, playing off their relationship as something more casual. 

“Oh please, do not insult my intelligence further. That you’re here, while your crew fights to their death above, tells me he’s more than just a bard to you. I have eyes and ears everywhere, Geralt. I know what he means to you. What you’d be willing to sacrifice for him. Which means, you are in no place to make demands, or request negotiations.” 

A low growl rumbled out of Geralt, who felt like a trapped beast. She’d cornered him. Patience had won the battle for her in the end. All the years she’d spent taking other pirate crews down, she’d been biding her time with him, waiting for the right opportunity to fall in her lap. 

“Seems we are at an impasse then.” He rumbled. 

“Are we? It feels more like a win to me.” The taunting cheer in her voice set his teeth on edge. “Come along Geralt. We have much to discuss.” 

Waving a hand at the guardsmen who’d just arrived, they opened the prison door, and grabbed both Geralt and Jaskier by the arms, escorting them to the throne room. 

Only half the crew were huddled together, Yennifer standing before them with crossed arms and an expression of discontent on her face. Trapped was not a feeling she particularly enjoyed, but she remained unwavering in her stance. This was by and large why Geralt trusted Yenn above all others. She could decimate them with a snap of her fingers, but there was a chance that it could backfire and their own crew could get caught in the crossfire. So she waited, biding her time until Geralt gave her the okay. 

At the front of the room, Calanthe lounged in her throne once more, amused at the sight before her. 

“I was almost certain there were more of you, but no matter. I have guards scouring the city for the rest. I will have the lot before the day is through.”

“Queen Calanthe, your problem is with me. And me alone. There’s no need to involve the rest. They are innocent.”

“Innocent?!” she scoffed. “I should think not. How innocent were they, when they took hard earned gold from sailing merchants? How innocent were they, when they killed and plundered villages?” Calanthe was on a roll, and Geralt didn’t like where she was going. “Tell me, oh great Captain of the sea: How innocent were your crew when they helped you in Blaviken?” 

Geralt narrowed his eyes. News travelled faster than he did. Or perhaps there was more at work than he understood. 

“They were not involved. My crew were already aboard the ship when the mercenaries attacked.” 

“And why were mercenaries attacking in the first place? Ah yes, that’s right. You refused to turn yourself in. So you see, Geralt, any blood you spill is also on their hands.” 

She seemed to have all the answers, tied up in a neat bow. It sent a frisson of anger through him. 

“I should make an example of one of them.” Calanthe tilted her head, examining the crew. “I’m tempted to kill the bard right now-“ 

Geralt made to plow through the guards, but was trapped beneath the weight of chains and arms holding him back. Calanthe’s laugh was pitched low, and cruel. 

“But I have plans for him. Most of which involve torturing you through his own torture. No, I think we need someone who can withstand a little damage.” Rising from her throne, she made her way across the room to the crew. Vesemir was brought forward, tugged by his shirt to the centre of the room. Pushing at his shoulders, she forced him to his knees.

“Just what I like to see. Now tell me, how long before you submit to me Geralt?” She brought her fist back, and slammed it forward into Vesemir’s face, cracking bone with a sickening _crunch._

“Fuck. You,” he spat, anger radiating from every ounce of him.

“Is that right? Clearly you didn’t hear me well enough.” A few more times, her fist raised, and came crashing down across Vesemir’s face. Her dress was splattered in blood, and Geralt could only imagine what kind of image must be painted across his Quartermaster’s face. For his part, Vesemir made no sound. Not a grunt of pain. 

“Oh I heard you. I simply think you’re a coward. Hitting the likes of those who cannot move, rather than taking your frustrations out on the one who caused you years of anguish.” Geralt taunted. He hoped to inspire her anger, and he did, but it backfired when she raised a hand. 

“You dare call me a coward? I am a _**Queen**! _I lay waste to multitudes of enemies on the battlefield. And you think to call me a _**coward**_?!” Her outrage was practically palpable. 

With a wave of her finger, guards swooped in and pointed their swords at the crew. 

“ **You _will_ submit to me, Geralt of Rivia, Captain of the Black Roach, Pirate, and heathen!**” she screamed. “ **Or I will destroy them all, right before your very eyes!** ” 

He didn’t doubt her then. There was a glimmer of something in her eyes, that said she would absolutely do it. He looked to Yennefer, who held fire in her eyes. She’d wait till the last possible moment, just in case he had another card up his sleeve. 

Yellow hues flicked over to Jaskier, who stood tall and proud, as if death didn’t frighten him shitless too. His eyes were locked on Geralt’s, lips mouthing ‘ _I love you_ ’ slowly. It was enough to spark something within his soul. 

“I am not your biggest enemy, Queen Calanthe,” he began — refusing to bow, or even drop a knee. “I might be a threat of some kind, but not to you, nor Cintra, and certainly not to those who seek to protect their people.” 

Calanthe narrowed her eyes, but allowed him to continue. If there was something he’d learned about the Queen in his time running from her, it was that her pride at being undefeated was her greatest weakness. 

“You mentioned the mercenaries, but failed to ask who sent them? We both know you have enemies besides me. And we also are both aware that you’ve made it your life’s goal to be the one to end the pirate legacy… To be the one who brings _me_ to justice,” Geralt continued, his tone even, unflustered. Regardless of how he might be feeling inside, he called on every ounce of peace to manifest within him. 

“What are you insinuating, Geralt?” The Queen’s patience with his rambling was wearing thin. 

“I’m saying someone is trying to oust your power. Someone else wants me dead, and they want to be the ones who claim that power. The ones who reign triumphant at the end of it all. And if I’m right? All of it is leading up to something… Something that won’t be good for you.” Geralt was mostly talking out of his ass, but the look on Calanthe’s face confirmed his suspicions. There were people out for her crown and power. 

“Could it be…?” She asked herself quietly. Flagging a guard, she sent them off on a mission. “Put them all in the dungeons for now. I have some things to attend to.” 

The crew sat huddled together in one of the larger cages. At the very least, they were all together. Vesemir’s face was a mess, but Yenn was quick to heal some of the damage. The bloody mess was left alone, so as not to draw too much attention to the fact that it was fixed. With any luck, no one would guess that they had a rather powerful mage on their side. 

“Where-“ 

Yenn shook her head, not wanting to be overheard by passing guards. Geralt took that to mean they were safe, wherever they were. That Triss was with that group, as well as Eskel, he needn’t have worried. They were smart, and thought on their feet. Looking around, Geralt spotted Jaskier next to some of the younger members of his crew. 

“Are you okay?” he murmured, brushing some of Jaskier’s hair away from his forehead. 

“I’m fine. I’m worried that there’s too much of a draft down here for some of them… They’re liable to catch their death down here, before we’ve had the chance to appeal.” 

Geralt snorted at the word _appeal._ The Queen would never give them a second listen, nor a chance for redemption. She would either choose to execute them, or leave them to rot in her dungeon. Still, the lines of worry maring his bard’s soft features tugged at something deep in his heart. His thumbs rubbed gently at the skin until the contracted features relaxed, and a small smile teased at his lips. 

“So much for those dinner plans…” Jaskier teased.

“I promise, I’ll get you out of here,” Geralt muttered, voice rumbling with restrained frustration. Their lips grazed for half a moment when sounds came clattering down the hall. 

It wasn’t a large sound, like a guard or two moving at a fair clip, but rather the smaller sound of slippers scuffling against stone. 

“Please, which one of you is Geralt? There isn’t much time.” A small female voice called out to his group.

“I am.” Geralt stood, making his way to the front of the barred wall. The girl before him could not be much older than their own youngest crew member, and yet she had very soulful eyes. 

“Princess Cirilla?” Jaskier stepped forward, identifying their rescuer. 

The sounds of metal meeting metal, as a key unlocked rusty iron doors, creaked through the air. 

“Quickly, there’s not much time.” She continued, neither responding to Jaskier’s inquiry, nor giving anything else away. “My Grandmother has plans for you all, and I can’t imagine it’s going to be good. She’s discovered Nilfgaard’s attempt at infiltration on our shores.” 

Geralt nodded, having assumed as much. The mercenaries were too strange to have been from just anywhere. 

“Get them out. To the ship Yenn, if you can. I’ll catch up.” Geralt stood in the hall, entrusting his little family to Ciri. “Why are you doing this?” He asked her quietly.

“For too long she’s tried to keep me from living. I’m done. I want to spread my wings. I want to come with you.” She pleaded.

Geralt would have laughed, had the situation been less tense. “Certainly not. Calanthe wants to kill me enough as it is. And you want me to take her only grandchild? Her only living heir? I think not.” 

Ciri made a noise of displeasure, but turned and helped the rest of the crew out. Jaskier followed in behind Geralt, as he took up paces towards the throne room. They would be the distraction. 

“If I asked you to go with them?” Geralt prodded in a quiet voice.

“I would tell you where you could shove that particular order.” Jaskier shot back. 

“Impertinent.” He growled, half amused. “Remind me to put you in your place next time we’re alone.”

“So long as that place is at your side… Then I’ll follow you anywhere.” 

“GUARDS! Have you _all_ abandoned your posts?” Queen Calanthe shouted, her voice echoing across the cavernous room. Geralt and Jaskier had arrived into the throne room, unarmed but unexpected. As he’d assumed, Calanthe had taken it as a direct threat to her life, and began brandishing a sword. Both Jaskier and Geralt dropped to their knees, which put a pause to her tirade. 

“Queen Calanthe. Please, we do not wish to cause you harm. We’ve no reason to.”

“Hell, we could have taken off into the sunset with just as much-Ouch!” 

Geralt elbowed Jaskier in the side, effectively cutting him off and shutting him up. 

“I should kill you where you kneel, just to make an example of you.” Calanthe seethed. 

“You could, but then you’d be sacrificing what could be your greatest ally.” Geralt baited her. 

“In what regard?” She replied, allowing the sword to fall at her side. He’d piqued her interest, that was good news. 

“I’m aware that at this moment, you have a small contingent of vessels headed this way, from Nilfgaard. They appear to mostly be scouts, maybe merchants. But we both know that those ships are truly here to take note of how best to finally infiltrate you.” 

The pursing of her lips proved his words beyond a shadow of a doubt. 

“If I’m right, your Naval force is…perhaps a bit lacking.” 

“What of it?” She snapped. Her pride would be Cintra’s downfall.

“I said before, what I wish to propose… It benefits us both.”

“Let me guess, you want to barter for your freedom?” Calanthe sneered. 

“In a way.” He skirted. “What you require is more sea vessels. Sturdy, battle-ready. But the only way you can muster that kind of army is with-“

“An alliance,” she breathed, catching his train of thought. “I only have my granddaughter. And I’ll be damned if I pair her off to the first pair of balls that show their best ships.” 

“Hardly. I would rather think you would have understood by now. You might think you’ve caught most of us… But there are more than you think. An alliance with our… kind might prove beneficial to us both.”

“Alliance… With _Pirates?_ That’s ridiculous.” She scoffed. Geralt grit his teeth. It was frustrating, given that negotiations were hardly his strong suit. Jaskier stepped in. 

“Is it so ridiculous? Wouldn’t it be more ridiculous to see Nilfgaard’s colours hoisted high above Cintra’s gates?” 

Calanthe spluttered indignantly, but Jaskier continued on as if she’d made no noise at all. 

“You’d be guaranteeing success by sea, _and_ while I can’t say I’d ever slide back into the role…My title still has a little pull in some areas.”

Geralt frowned, uncertain as to what that meant, but it seemed to do the trick with Calanthe — who pursed her lips in thought. 

“A guaranteed win you say?” She narrowed her eyes. Trust was not something she gave away, and especially not with the man she’d hunted for ages. “I’ll agree, with a condition.” 

“And what might that be?” Geralt said through clenched teeth. Jaskier would not be staying behind as insurance. Even if that was the best way to prove his loyalty. 

“Your mage. The one with black hair. I require her to stay behind. As insurance.” 

Geralt narrowed his eyes. Yenn? She might be part of his crew, but he’d be damned if he spoke on her behalf like that. 

“Accepted.” Yennefer’s voice spoke from somewhere behind them. _Shit._

Whipping his head around to glance at her, Geralt couldn’t discern a thing from her expression. Jaskier seemed ill at ease as well, which meant this was something Yenn had determined all on her own. Why had she stayed behind? Why did she always try to fix his messes? 

“Well, isn’t this convenient?” Calanthe drawled, impressed by the sudden appearance. “Very well. I release you two, for the time being. You _will_ amass me an army — trustworthy — and willing to fight for Cintra’s honour. I will not have a ragtag crew of cowards who flee in the face of danger.” 

“Your Highness, with all due respect, most of the pirates I know would pay handsomely for a slice of Nilfgaard flesh.” He chuckled darkly. 

~

Back on the ship, the crew were hard at work preparing for a long voyage. Geralt had very quickly explained their new predicament, as well as his plan and heading. 

“Out of the pot and into the fire.” Triss clucked, her expression one of displeasure, but there was acceptance in her eyes.

“It seems so.” Geralt’s jaw was working overtime, clenching and unclenching. 

“And yet, you know,” Jaskier began, leaning his side against Geralt’s. “There’s a chance this could earn you freedom. All of them too.”

“A chance. A small one. I’m not sure I dare to hope.” 

“Well you also have me. A smaller prize by comparison I know, but not entirely a bad thing.” 

Geralt rolled his eyes, but leaned in, kissing the top of Jaskier’s head. He wasn’t wrong. The Captain was blessed to a degree he could not imagine. True, they were headed to peril unknown, and had left their dearest friend behind in uncertain hands. But they had their health, and a love that seemed to reach a level of profound deepness the poets often described in they’re works on yearning. And the White Wolf of Rivia, who believed in naught, thanked the Sea Goddess for blessing them

Below, hidden away among the foods and storage, soulful eyes peered out with a smirk. Princess Cirilla had successfully found her way onto The Black Roach. Perhaps she’d cut her hair, don the male garments she’d found among the mess, and blend in with the rest. She’d wanted adventure after all, and what better way to get a taste of life than to join Geralt in his search for other pirate captains?

END


End file.
